


Goodbye-ee

by Silvestria



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, Gen, Goodbyes, Season 2 spoilers, Touching farewell scenes at stations, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew had specifically asked nobody to see him off but Mary had never been very good at doing what she was told. Inspired by certain recent S02 pictures and spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye-ee

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is inspired by the various recent spoilers and spoilery photos that have appeared recently. (Read/see them [here](http://john-elliott.livejournal.com/37044.html).) If you don't know what these are and don't want to be spoiled then I shall remain silent and you can just enjoy the story. If you do know what I'm talking about then you will understand my desire to write this story and to attempt to make apparently OOC behaviour vaguely IC! I've set it in 1915 because, well, I felt like it. Debate rages over whether the scene in question is a flashback (if so to when) or not and whether it's the same occasion as the other goodbye Mary will make on the station platform. (No spoilers...) This is my interpretation of the information we've got anyway. Of course I don't know whether it's correct or not (sadly I'm not Julian Fellowes) but I did want to try to write something that could potentially be realistic for the scenario. Hope you enjoy - this must be the saddest songfic I've ever written!
> 
> As for the songs: you can listen to [We don't want to lose you](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTJXwOs2_bA) and [Goodbye-ee](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8aCnmBVtQ4&feature=related) here.

_1915_

It was a predictable sort of conversation considering the situation. That is to say, rather than dwelling on the uncertainty and horror of the present and future, they talked exclusively and nostalgically of the past; of springtime, of childhood, of innocence.

"Mary loved her rocking horse, that I do remember," said Sybil, her eyes sparkling over her glass of wine. "I had my dolls house and Edith her colouring books but Mary was forever riding-"

"She still is," muttered Edith under her breath but fortunately nobody heard her.

"- and she could go for hours. You always looked so deep in concentration; I think you must have had entire imaginative worlds based around that rocking horse!" she finished with a grin at her sister.

"I was imagining riding far away from here and making my fortune in the big, wide world," replied Mary, staring at the fruit bowl in the centre of the table with such indifferent lethargy and speaking so languidly and sarcastically that it was impossible to tell whether she was being serious or not and the discussion stalled.

Cutlery and glasses clinked for a few minutes as the last few mouthfuls of dessert were finished and those who had already eaten their tart scraped at their plates and pretended they had some left in order to give themselves something to do.

"What did you play at then, Matthew?" asked the Countess politely. He had only been back at Downton for a fortnight and still nobody quite knew quite how to treat him, for all that this final dinner was in his honour. What could one say, after all, to a man who had previously thrown away their lives for his good when he returned to Manchester and was now being sent to throw away his own for the greater?

Nevertheless, he answered with an easy smile on his lips thought there was still that trace of reserve that always hung about him now. "I was a rather boring child, I'm afraid, cousin. I did not do anything unexpected. I had my toy soldiers," the table winced collectively apart from Matthew who was quite calm and Mary who was playing with a grape and did not appear to be listening, "and my toy trains and my hoop and stick and I invested them all with magical properties quite incomprehensible to me now!"

"Take care, dear," said his mother, "not to make yourself sound too ordinary, or I shall be obliged to tell our cousins about Orlando."

Matthew half-groaned, half-laughed. "Mother!" he remonstrated.

"Who's Orlando?" asked Sybil with a curious smile, looking between them.

"When Matthew was little-" began Isobel, her expression far away, before Matthew interrupted her.

"Orlando was what I called my Golliwog. He was hideously ugly and I cannot think now why I kept him so long, but I did. And that's all there is to it!"

"Not quite!" persisted Isobel, who seemed determined to follow the story through to its embarrassing end. "You were so devoted to Orlando! On your first day of school – remember, Matthew? – you refused to leave the house unless Orlando went too!"

"I assume this was your first day at prep school!" commented Mary, effortlessly insinuating the insult.

He turned towards her but was unrewarded, for she did not bother looking up. "My junior school, yes," he replied after a moment of frustrated hesitation.

"Well, I think it's a very sweet story, Matthew!" said Sybil. "Where is Orlando now?"

"He reached the end of his natural life many years ago and has gone to the resting place of all good Golliwogs."

"There are only so many times that you can sew eyes back on and repair torn limbs!" explained Isobel with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "Dear old Orlando. I loved him quite as much as you did, Matthew!" She looked at him across the table with so much affection and worry that the others who saw it wished themselves elsewhere.

"Remind me when your train is tomorrow, Matthew," asked the Earl, to break the heaviness in the atmosphere, though the time was engraved on all their hearts.

"Eleven forty-seven," he replied, "but please, I beg you, sir, do not come to see me off." He looked round the table. "Any of you. I'd really much prefer it if you did not."

Robert frowned. "Are you sure, Matthew? Because most people leaving on that train will have someone there. You deserve a-"

"No, really, I'd be grateful if you did not."

"I understand!" cried Edith suddenly.

"You do?" He turned to her in surprise.

"Yes, for Cousin Isobel will be there for you, and it's quite right that the final goodbye should be just between the nearest and dearest of relations. I think you are justified in ordering us away, Matthew."

Somehow this speech sounded more spiteful than it had any right to be; at least so it appeared to one of its listeners.

"Actually, Edith, I've been ordered to stay away too," said Isobel. "I do hope you might be able to change his mind though, because I cannot."

"You'd only fuss, Mother," Matthew replied, his patience wearing increasingly thin. "We can say our farewells at home in peace and then I can simply leave cheerfully with the other men."

She looked so unhappy at this that he smiled at her, albeit painfully. "Come, we are neither of us good enough at concealing our feelings!"

"Well, I must bow to your judgement," Isobel said capitulating as she had to, and yet again the others felt they were intruding.

* * *

Matthew stood on the platform waiting for his luggage to be loaded, surrounded yet untouched by the confusion around him. Downton was a small village but there were at least ten other men in uniform on the platform leaving for the first time today. Some of them he knew by name, others he only recognized. They all knew him, however, and eyed him wonderingly, before turning back to their families who had come to see them off.

There was almost a carnival atmosphere which he had not expected. Bunting in the English colours hung from the rafters of the station and the ladies of the church choir had turned out in full force in their Sunday best and were belting out a popular recruiting song with all their heart opposite the ticket office.

 _We've watched you playing cricket and every kind of game,  
At football, golf and polo you men have made your name.  
But now your country calls you to play your part in war._

Matthew rolled his shoulders uncomfortably in his new and unfamiliar military coat. It sat heavily. For the first time he wondered if he had been right to keep his mother away. Surely he had underestimated her stoicism. Certainly it was unfair on her. Anyway, it would have been nice to have someone to talk to in these few moments since everyone else did. He did not regret forbidding his cousins from coming, however. His relationship with them was so tenuous now, for it had been almost a year since he had last seen them, and the last thing he wanted at this moment was Sybil's cheeriness, the weight of responsibility he always felt when faced with her father or –

 _And no matter what befalls you  
We shall love you all the more.  
So come and join the forces  
As your fathers did before._

Matthew sighed, adjusted his hat, and turned to see his bag stowed away in the luggage car by the porter. No turning back. The train let out a warning whistle briefly drowning out the singers and a cloud of steam belched across the platform. No, it was good that the Crawleys were not here. His mother though… Perhaps Edith had been right. If he did not trust his mother to be with him at this moment, then whom did he trust?

 _Oh, we don't want to lose you but we think you ought to go.  
For your King and your country both need you so._

 _We shall want you and miss you  
But with all our might and main  
We shall cheer you, thank you, kiss you  
When you come home again._

The smoke cleared on the platform and he saw her suddenly appearing before him like a dream apparition in plum velvet. Mary. She was never far from his thoughts at any time, even when he was barely conscious of it, but he had become used to suppressing his longing for her and never referring to her by name in his mind. Having to see her constantly yet never being able to let himself reach out to her had been the hardest part of returning to Downton. Not that she had made it more difficult for him, for her chilly indifference and sarcastic wit had only seemed to increase as his fortnight's stay had progressed. Why had he loved her? he asked himself repeatedly and he was very careful about the tense he used when phrasing the question.

Now, seeing her before him like this all alone (for he was quite sure she was alone), her hands clasped neatly in front of her, holding a plain paper bag, he wondered what she wanted. He licked his lips nervously. "Mary, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you off, of course."

He swallowed. "You heard me last night: I didn't want anyone to come!"

She shrugged and gave him a wry smile. "Oh, Matthew, you should know me better than that; I never do what I'm told!"

This was so like her as he remembered her that it almost physically hurt. For a moment they simply looked at each other warily as the silence stretched awkwardly. Then Matthew lightly slapped his hands against his sides and forced a smile. "Well, here you are then!"

"Here I am!" She returned his smile with equal brightness and added, "You look very dashing in your uniform, Matthew!"

For a moment he thought he saw something in her eyes that he had not seen all the time he had been back and he hated himself for imagining it. Inside the station the singers had finished their song and were taking a break. The steady chugging of the engine warming up dominated over other sounds.

"What do you want, Mary?" It came out harsher than he had intended and a look of hurt briefly crossed her face. He probably imagined that too.

She hesitated and then put her hand into the paper bag. "I brought you something, as a keepsake." She did not quite meet his eyes.

He raised his eyebrows. This was… unexpected.

Then she produced with great embarrassment and no flourish whatsoever a horrible, pink, furry, stuffed toy rabbit with floppy ears and large, glassy eyes.

"Good God, Mary," he exclaimed, unable to help himself. "What on earth-!"

She flushed. "It was all they had in the village shop this morning. I – I would have got something nicer if I could have done!"

Matthew tried to look on it with something other than utter revulsion but it was very difficult. "Well, I-" There were no words. He did not understand.

"I thought," she interrupted him hurriedly, still partly holding it out to him and partly trying to hide it from view, "that it might be of some comfort to you when you're away from home. I know it's no Orlando, but-"

"Oh, Mary." Matthew's heart contracted and he suddenly found he had a lump in his throat. He wanted to reach out to her but she was standing just too far away, and of course he did not move. "You don't believe in any of that."

"Naturally," she replied and suddenly she met his eyes. "But you do, and you're the one who needs the luck."

He could not look away from her. In the back of his mind he was aware that the platform was starting to empty and that the church choir had somehow acquired a flautist. If they had been joined by angels from heaven with harps of gold he could not have cared less; all his senses were focussed on the woman in front of him.

Desperate to break the tension that was massing between them, he seized on the first idea that came into his head. "What's its name? You should name it, you know."

She smiled brilliantly. "I was thinking Ganymede!"

"Ganymede!" Matthew's eyes flickered down to the offensive toy and back up to her. "If Orlando must have a companion, then I would prefer it to be Rosalind!"

Mary raised her eyebrows and held the rabbit up before her to inspect it with mock criticism before looking back at him. "Do you honestly think it looks like a Rosalind?"

His lips twitched. "Maybe not."

He sighed. This was ridiculous. The rabbit was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous and now the doors on the train were being slammed in preparation for departure.

"You know," he said irrelevantly, wasting their last few moments together, "I shall be mercilessly mocked by the other men for having it!"

She tilted her head to one side. "Matthew mercilessly mocked?" she repeated, enjoying the alliteration. "You'll feel right at home!"

"Hercules: that's what I'll call it. I dare say I'll need some kind of hero by my side." He smiled too brightly at her.

Again that look passing across her face like a ghost and this time it lingered as she impetuously took a step forward. "Matthew, you don't need a hero by your side! You're more than-"

The whistle blew and the conductor called, "All aboard for London!"

Ignoring him, his heart pounding, he stepped closer and reached out for her hand. "Mary, I-"

He found himself clutching Hercules instead. "Take him!" she cried urgently. "Now get on the train if you mean to go at all!"

She almost pushed him towards the first class carriage and before he knew it he was bolted in and she was on the other side and stepping back to stand with the other women and children. Someone pressed a Union Flag into her hand and she looked at it in surprise and confusion and then back up at him. She gave it a little mocking wave in his direction and his heart almost burst with love for her. He did not even try to deny it now and there was so much that he had not said to her, so much he had not asked her.

"Mary, I-" he began once more with desperate need, leaning as far out of the window as he could, but his words were drowned by another hiss of steam from the engine and the choir striking up a new song to sing them out of the station.

 _Brother Bertie went away  
To do his bit the other day  
With a smile on his lips  
and his Lieutenant's pips  
upon his shoulder bright and gay_

 _As the train moved out he said,  
'Remember me to all the birds.'  
Then he wagged his paw  
and went away to war  
Shouting out these pathetic words:_

The pistons started, the smoke billowed, and they were finally moving. As the air cleared he saw her in the crowd of wives, mothers, daughters and sisters: his detached, amused, proud Lady Mary come to see him off as he had wanted all along, a flag in her hand though she seemed to refuse to join in the ecstatic but false waving of her companions, her head tilted to one side and her expression – who could say?

Then someone on the platform yelled, "Give 'em a grin, boys!" and all down the train the men leaned further out of the windows and raised their hats as the platform slid from view. Still he could see her and she raised her eyebrows.  _And you?_  she seemed to be asking him so he raised his hat to her even as the wind tried to clutch at it and tear it from his hand as they picked up speed. Still he could see her and she held up her hand in an unmoving salute and gave him her best smile – best not for its devastating brilliance but for its sincerity, the smile he had dreamed of seeing on her face once again. His breath caught in his throat. Did she? Could they? Then the train went round a bend out of the station and she was lost from his view.

 _Goodbye-ee, goodbye-ee,  
Wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee,  
Tho' it's hard to part I know,  
I'll be tickled to death to go._

 _Don't cry-ee, dont sigh-ee,  
there's a silver lining in the sky-ee,  
Bonsoir, old thing, cheer-i-o, chin, chin,  
Nah-poo, toodle-oo, Goodbye-ee._

Back on the platform, Mary let her hand fall to her side and the smile fell from her face at the same time. All around her, women were doing the same thing. Mary looked at them curiously, suddenly feeling that she had more in common with these lower class village wives and mothers than with anybody else in the world.

She caught the eye of one of them and the woman came up to her, put her hand on her arm and said without so much as a greeting, "It's alright, Lady Mary, he'll be back before you can turn around; you won't even know he's gone!"

Mary did not even know her name and felt ashamed. She wanted to ask who it was that the woman had seen off today but her throat was tight and the words would not come. So she nodded several times in agreement and sympathy, tried desperately to smile and brushed past her as soon as possible.

As she left the station she realised she was still clutching the flag and suddenly she was filled with anger. Who were they trying to con? It had not been over by last Christmas and it would not be over by this Christmas either. Her bottom lip trembled, tears darted suddenly into her eyes, and she tore at the paper flag with shaking hands as she set off on her lonely walk back to Downton, pieces of red, white and blue fluttering behind her in the breeze as she went.


End file.
